


As Numerous as the Stars

by EccentricFangirl777



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Adventure, All of Time and Space, And the whole bloody universe too, Angst, Clarke Griffin Deserves Better, Clarke Griffin Deserves the World, Clarke Griffin is (kinda like) the Doctor, Clarke Griffin-centric, Every Star, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Inspired by Doctor Who, Lowkey Worldbuilding, Romance, She's her own person, So I'm giving her the stars, Temporal Paradoxes, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, What Have I Done, but not really, no but literally, this was supposed to be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EccentricFangirl777/pseuds/EccentricFangirl777
Summary: Her names are almost as numerous as the years she's lived, as numerous as the stars she's touched.Daughter of the Architect. The One who Never Belonged. The Woman who Loved and Lost. The Girl Left Behind. The One who Runs. The Blue-Eyed Goddess. Savior of Worlds. Defender of the Galaxies. The Lonely Guardian. The Silent Slayer. The Last Prime. Relic of Arkadia. Destroyer of Worlds.Wanheda— the Commander of Death.Hundreds of names. Thousands of years.One being.~~~A Doctor Who-inspired fic centered around Clarke Griffin and the people she loves.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Madi, Clarke Griffin & Wells Jaha, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. Half-Breed

**Author's Note:**

> LET’S PLAY A DRINKING GAME EVERYBODY (choose your poison: water or juice ~~or the blood of your enemies~~ )! Drink each time you see ‘star’!! Maybe we can extend it to any time-travel-and-space-related term, but I don’t want to poison y’all ~~with water~~. Anyways, HAVE FUN WHHOOOOOOO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I was thinking for this fic, but I hope you enjoy it anyways haha.

There's a small, quiet, little spot on the russet hills overlooking the valley that holds the citadel of Sanctum. It's one of the few peaks taller than the Citadel, and one that few Arkadians are aware of, if at all. Which once upon a time would've been a shame— because really, the view of this sky and the planet’s natural beauty is objectively the best in Arkadia, and people should be here to admire it— but to her in moments like these, it is a blessing. Because the last thing she wants to happen is to have anyone else ruin one of the last sacred spots that reminds her of her father. Memories still untainted by the Arkadian society. Memories that remind her still of the freedom of youth she'd only gotten a taste of and was never given since.

_"This is your home now, my little Phoenix. This is Arkadia."_

A small, bitter smile slips on her face as she leans back. The binary suns, one bright orange-yellow, the other smaller and scarlet red, warm her icy skin and reflect off the shields Sanctum perpetually has in place. It really is beautiful, Phoenix muses. Her hand strokes the russet grass beneath her fingers. Sanctum is beautiful, _Arkadia_ is beautiful, and she can see why her father had loved it so much in the first place, were it not for its people.

She lies on the grass for a few moments, eyes closed, basking underneath the warmth the binary suns provided. "I wonder if they're looking for me now," she says aloud, to the valleys and plains of her small, grassy hidden spot. "I wonder if they even care."

' _No_ ,' she hears from the mellifluous whispers of the tall grass as the wind gently caresses them from side to side like a lover's stroke. ' _You can leave Arkadia, and no one will bat an eye_.'

Phoenix snorts, shaking her head. "That's a lie," she tells them, matter-of-fact. "The Premier will shackle me down before I could." He’s done it before, and only her father had been the one to remove them. But now, her father is gone.

The grass giggles in response.

"Oh! You were just making fun of me."

' _A little_ ,' they say, and she lapses into a comfortable silence. Of course. The tall swaying grass of the russet hills have always been little jokers, even back when her father had still been alive.

"I want to go, though," she says after a while, eyes still on the rusty, burnt-orange sky with the twin suns. "I want to..."

' _What is it?_ ' they urge her, swaying sweetly back and forth. ' _Tell us, little one_.'

"I want to fly amongst the stars," she whispers, pointing to the sky, to the barely noticeable twinkling in the darker edges of the orange sky. Her palms open, facing skyward, stretching her fingers as she can until they touch the edges of her vision. Her hands, holding the heavens. "I want to travel the worlds to escape my own. I want to be free."

The grass is silent. The only sway back and forth to a rhythm the wind has set for them.

"Do you think I can be free?"

The grass doesn't respond. She supposes they never really do.

* * *

"... little discrepancies across the fabric of Time and Space. No one really knows or even understands their purpose, for there exists no pattern to their appearance, but the power and potential behind them is undeniable. Our Great Premier— hallowed be his name— he himself is the first person to enter the Anomaly and emerge from it, with visions of greatness, the creation of an Arkadia reborn..."

She's bored out of her mind, and the professor's monotonous voice isn't helping much. He's a bigshot in the field of temporal discrepancies, specifically with the Anomalies that often appear randomly throughout time and space without precedence. There's one currently in Arkadia's forests that had popped up several, several millennia ago, in a time long before she was born, in a time long before even her _father_ and the Great Premier had been created. Despite this, Arkadia's greatest Primes can't seem to figure out their resident Anomaly's origins, her father included. She's curious, of course, and she's sorely tempted to step foot inside like the Premier had in his youth because there could really be nothing worse inside than the loneliness and disgust she faces here in Arkadia. But the Premier has made sure that the area holding the Anomaly is off-limits to all Arkadians and unauthorized Primes.

Even as a scholar of the Academy studying to become a Prime, her nature aside, she's unable to inspect the Anomaly without the permission and help of the Academy's faculty. And, well, there's really no one who'll want to mentor her, much less give her authorization to access one of Arkadia's greatest guarded mysteries.

Luckily for her, the professor eventually ends the lecture with applause from brown-nosing students. Completely disregarding propriety, Phoenix practically bolts from the room and into the winding halls of the Academy. She lets the shocked whispers of disgust and thoughts of revulsion roll off her walls like water, already used to it. She's eager to get out of the Academy and back to her beautiful little secret she'd once shared with her father.

After all, that place is where she truly feels at peace.

As she escapes the Citadel and runs closer to the hills, the loud buzz of her people in her mind recedes into a gentle hum. Her respiratory bypass is gearing up, ready to kick in by the time she's halfway up the hill, but the pressure is pleasant, and she wants to catch the suns before they lower into the horizon. 

For all her complaints about Arkadia, the natural beauty this planet holds in undeniable, and the binary sunset reveals and paints the most stunning blend of colors across the darkening skies. It's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen in the short five centuries of her life. Her fingers always itch to draw or paint the phenomenon, but there's no amount of paint nor talent in the universe to ever capture the true beauty of Arkadia and its binary sunset.

She's already tried multiple times, and though her paintings are beautiful, there’s always something missing, not quite capturing what she feels whenever she sees it.

She sits atop the hill, enjoying the way the bright, hued colors flare across the sky as the suns slowly sink into the horizon. With a pang, she almost wishes she had someone to share it with. With a pang, she wants her father to be here just so she could hear him tell her his stories.

"Oh wow," says a quiet voice behind her, breaking the silence and her peace with it. The soft smile on her face drops, and Phoenix jumps to her feet, mental defenses up. She whirls around to see an Academy student— her year, judging by the make and color of the uniform's robes, in the House of Taiscéalaí, judging by the emblem emblazoned on his chest, above the center of where his two hearts lay— standing next to the silvery tree. "Sorry," he says, hands up in a calming gesture. It serves to only put her even more on edge instead.

"You're not supposed to be here," she bites out through grounded teeth. "Your Housemate Peers would be looking for you soon." Then a search party would commence, and soon she would lose her favorite spot.

"True," he concedes, "but I'm reckless. And irresponsible. They're used to me disappearing every now and then." His eyebrows rise rather arrogantly. "What about you, princess?"

"Don't call me that," she says waspishly, crossing her arms. "And you really think I have anyone, much less someone who'd _care_?" She knows he knows who she is. She knows he knows what she is.

He bites his lip, obviously regretting his words, and somehow, this endears him to her just a bit. In the few trips she'd had with her father to Earth, she's noticed that it was a very human thing to do. But he's obviously not human, very Arkadian in fact. "Sorry," he says, and they fall into a very tense, uncomfortable silence, eyes not once straying from each other.

He looks at her with friendly, innocent curiosity while she looks at him with guarded scrutiny.

"What?" she snaps, unable to handle being stared like that. She's not really used to it, and oddly, she'd take the whispers and glares of Arkadia over this. _This_ is completely unfamiliar territory, and it unnerves her. She refuses to let it show, though. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

His eyebrows furrow. "I... what?" Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step back, ready to run. "Wait, hold on, no don't leave," he says hurriedly, almost stepping forward after but stopping himself. She's tempted not to listen and just book it, but he continues quietly, sheepishly, "I don't know where to, uh... go, from here." He lifts his arms awkwardly, gesturing wildly at the hill and valley they're on.

That surprises a disbelieving scoff out of her.

"What do you know? She can laugh!" His face practically splits open, so wide is his grin, and he points to her excitedly.

Her face smooths out, and she gives him a blank look. "No I don’t. I don’t laugh."

"Okay fine, laughed, as in you _did._ Before. Past tense, most basic verbal tense we've learned since we first opened our eyes?"

She refrains from remarking that unlike full-blooded Arkadians, she has no memory of the moment she first opened her eyes and retorts instead,

"I didn't _laugh_."

"You did too!"

"No, I did—" She cuts herself off, frustrated by the childish conversation already.

But she stops at the wrong place, and he's quick to give her a smug look. "So you admit it."

She's tempted to scream. 

He seems to read her like an open book though, for he laughs, throwing his head back. She's almost caught off-guard by the way his dark hair almost flies and flutters in the wind, like the way the tall grass sways in the wind. It's very pretty, his hair, she thinks enviously. And, she offhandedly thinks, she supposes he is too.

He's back to smiling at her again. She thinks he might as well be a clown with the amount of joy and smiles he possesses, but oh, his smile. It really is a beautiful smile, with straight white teeth and warm, sincere eyes. Unlike anything she's ever seen, save for the moments with her father and by herself, settled in the comfort of the whispering grass.

"I'm Rho." His left hand twitches by his side before he brings it forward. She stares at it with interest.

She must have stared at it for an inappropriately longer time than needed though, as Rho clears his throat, fidgeting. "This— this _is_ how humans do, right?" He laughs nervously, hand shaking but not dropping.

Once, she would have slapped it away. Many of her peers have mocked her half-human nature before, but this time, with Rho, this feels sincere.

She grips Rho's hands without a second thought, and Rho jumps, obviously not expecting her to follow through. "Phoenix," she says quietly. He smiles, widely, sincerely, and he shakes their joined hands with more enthusiasm than would have been accepted on Earth.

She can't help but smile back.

* * *

Her earliest memories consist of her spending time with her father on this secluded hill. If he wasn't taking her to off-world adventures or taking her around Arkadia, then she would sit there next to her father or on his back, listening to him tell her stories about humans, about Earth, about his travels. When he died, though all of Arkadia mourned his death, she mourned him alone. For as great as the Architect had been in recreating and rebuilding Arkadia in the wake of war, he was her dad. Her father, the one who raised her and loved her for who she is. Her stolen moments in this little hill had been her little homage to him, a tradition she decided to keep in his memory. She's not used to sharing it with anyone else. Frankly, she's not sure if she's ready to do so.

So, ever since the day Rho followed her to her secret spot, she's been waiting. A little apprehensive, waiting for someone else to turn up with Rho, for him to reveal to someone else her sacred, secret spot. But, no one ever does. Just Rho and her, her and Rho, there on the private little spot away from judgmental Arkadian eyes.

It takes a while for her to adjust. She's used to being alone. But with Rho, the change is quick and, dare she say it, welcomed. He's a breath of fresh air to the stuffiness and snobbishness of Arkadian society, and he makes her comfortable. Sometimes, they just lay there, staring up at the stars. Other times, they talk.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to how beautiful Arkadia is," Rho tells her, in awe of the brilliant colors painting the twilight sky. 

Phoenix smiles. "I know." She tells him about the inspiration that the stars often give her, about the paintings she's made, about the starry canvas she's seen above Earth in her travels with her dad, and how much the Arkadian night skies were a beauty all on its own. He listens to her like he cares.

"Why don't you tell anyone about this place?" Rho suddenly asks after a moment of comfortable silence. "It's just so beautiful, you know? It deserves to be shared."

Phoenix keeps her eyes on the sky, her thoughts turning back to her father.

_"This has always been my secret spot. I go here when I feel burdened by everything else, or when I have no one to turn to, or when I don't want to be with anyone. Just me and my thoughts and the inspiring beauty of Arkadia. But now, I'm sharing it with you, my little Phoenix, my precious little girl. Then, maybe one day, you'll share it with someone else, like I have with you."_

So, she tells him, "I'm sharing it with you, aren't I?"

* * *

"I want to see the stars, walk across space after the Ceremony," Rho says one day. He points to the twinkling canvas laid clear before their eyes. "All those worlds out there, waiting to be touched and explored— that's what I'll do."

"The Prime who walks across space," Phoenix muses, smiling. "That sounds like you."

He shoots her a grateful smile before wiggling his eyebrows at her. "What about you? What will you do, o brilliant daughter of Arkadia's Architect?"

Phoenix stares out at the starry, starry night sky. "I want to be free," she murmurs out into the silence of the night. "To fly and journey amongst the stars, out where I can truly belong." She smiles. "My place, in the stars."

She nearly jerks when she feels cool fingers touch her own. Her eyes meet Rho's, warm and inviting and so understanding. "Maybe you can do it with me."

Phoenix smiles back, touched. Her hand squeezes his. "Maybe I will."

* * *

"What does it mean to be a Prime?" the Matron, their year's head instructor, asks the gathered scholars in the lyceum. "This is the question you've all been asked since the beginning, and this is the question I ask you now. Students, I know you are the brightest and the bravest Arkadia has to offer. Many, if not all of you, wish to become a Prime. But, sadly, not all of you here will be able to become one."

"Some of us are not worthy to become a Prime, either," a snide voice snarks while another hides " _Half-breed_ " behind a cough, earning a few snickers from the gathered students. Phoenix keeps her face smooth, mental shields fortified. She's faced this ever since her father presented her to Arkadian society, even more so after his death a century or so ago, so she's used to this. Really, she is. Unbidden, her eyes seek Rho's out in the crowd. Rho, who looks defiant, angry, and sorrowful all at once, meets her stare equally, and suddenly it feels easier to breathe.

The instructor continues, neither agreeing nor berating the students, "That's not to say you are not cut out to be a Prime. Rather, it means that there are other positions for you here in Arkadian society that will suit you better. Or, perhaps, you need more time before ascending and taking part in the Naming Ceremony." She pauses, her eyes sweeping the large crowd. 

"As students in your last decades here at the Academy, you all have passed several obstacles and tests to get here, to sit in this very room, to give pride to your Houses and ancestors. This, my students, is one of your last tests to face before taking part in the Naming Ceremony to become a Prime."

The Matron steps behind a podium at the center, and with a press of a button hidden from the students' eyes, the lights dim, and a green light flares out from the floor outwards, towards the audience. A chill runs down Phoenix's spine, and she straightens. Her hearts beat faster underneath her chest, her respiratory bypass suddenly kicking in. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d stopped breathing.

The Anomaly.

"That is correct, my students. Your last test is the Anomaly." A burst of apprehension escapes many, and Phoenix can feel the buzz of psychic fields being used all at once through her mental fortifications. She herself is both terrified and in shock. The Anomaly is dangerous, unpredictable. Lecture after lecture warning them all of the power an Anomaly possesses, that it could drive one mad, or drive one to their deaths, or worse, cause them to disappear in the Void, to the Nowheres, to the Nethermores and Neverhows. At the worst, it could cause them to cease to exist. 

Her eyes once again seek Rho's. Even under the eerie green lights, his face is pale. He's scared. Terrified. Afraid, for once, of what the future holds. 

For once, she is too. 

"Students!" Matron's voice rises above the whispers, above the shared, panicked din in Phoenix's mind and in others'. With her voice, the light of the Anomaly disappears. "This test is dangerous. There's a chance some of you will fall under the Anomaly's power and into madness. Others might die. Others might be eradicated. I will tell this to you, my students: many have tried, and many failed. The Anomaly is an unpredictable force, but it is the only one that tells us who amongst all of you is the best, who is meant to be a Prime and what all this honorable title entails. And so, it will engulf the unready and spits outs the ones who are. I will not fault you if some of you choose to leave." 

Silence. Tensions taut over their heads. Students shift in their seats. But the Matron is not finished. "However, once you step foot from this lyceum, you will _never_ become a Prime. Not even the Premier himself will allow you to have a Naming Ceremony of your own. This is your last test. This is your last chance."

A few seconds pass as students look at each other. Then, one by one, bit by bit, some leave. Then another batch. Then another. Phoenix stares in disbelief as some of the most outspoken students who'd prematurely declared themselves Primes rise from their seats. She herself is tempted to walk out and leave. But, despite all it represents, becoming a Prime is her only ticket out of Arkadia. Her only ticket to see the universe, like she once had with her father.

Nothing, not even the possibility of dying scares her more than being stuck at a place filled with egotistical assholes and hypocrites. 

As the last flux of students step out of the Lyceum, Phoenix takes a look around. What had once been filled to the brim is now reduced to less than half. Now, she understands why not many have chosen to become Primes. The Academy is not the last test an Arkadian must face before becoming a Prime as they all had been led to believe.

Despite her dedication to the stars, she knows the Anomaly is still a terrible force to face.

Her eyes land on Rho. Something heavy sets in her stomach. He didn't leave. Of course he didn't. Like her, he wants to see the universe and listen to its call. Unlike her, though, he genuinely wants to become a Prime; it’s ingrained in his hearts, in his very being. Nothing would stop him from reaching his goals. Not even the Anomaly and its ramifications.

Her brave, stupid Rho.

As if he feels the weight of her gaze on him, his eyes meet hers. Underneath the cloud of fear is shining determination. Her brave, stupid Rho. Maybe that's why…

The Matron speaks, "You all are either very brave or very stupid. Either way I commend all of you." She surveys the crowd of students left. Unsurprisingly, her eyes skip over Phoenix. "Soon, skimmers will be here to take you to the Anomaly." 

At the confusion of the remaining students, Matron allows a rare smile to grace her face. "Skimmers, though archaic, are able to bypass the Tachyon interference the Anomaly naturally radiates," she explains. Of course. The ancient technology of the Skimmer, tech that had been around since _before_ the appearance of the Anomaly to Arkadia, did not utilize the Tachyon energies much of modern Arkadian technology used. How could it, since the Tachyon energy fields of Ancient Arkadia had been weak prior to the Anomaly's appearance.

"The skimmers will only take you past the first barriers. Some of the guards there and a few of your professors— your evaluators— will be there to walk you individually to the Anomaly. When you get there, you will not walk into the Anomaly— this is expressly forbidden. Instead, look inside.

"What you see will be different from the person next to you. You might see flashes of the future. You might see flashes of the past. You might see the whole of Time and Space. Whatever you will see is unique to you and you only. It might inspire you. It might drive you to madness. Or it might cause you to run, either into the Anomaly or far, far away from Arkadia. It all depends on you and the Anomaly."

A low rumble captures the remaining students' attention, and Phoenix looks outside the glass walls, where two large skimmers hover nearby. 

_It was time_.

The Matron nods gravely and continues, "Some of you will emerge with visions of inspiration, like the Premier had a millennia and more ago. Some of you might succumb to the Anomaly's power and never come back. Some of you, I might forget. Regardless, know this, my students: I am proud of you. It was an honor to teach you, to watch you grow in power and in mind, to see you hone your skills in hopes to become Primes." She pauses, then bows her head. "May we meet again."

Somehow, in the silence her words leave, Phoenix knows that the Matron's parting words do not include her.

Some time later, Phoenix is standing in the woods amongst the crowd of students still waiting for their turn. Like the Matron said, some have returned. Others did not. Phoenix wonders how many the Anomaly had erased. She wonders why the possibility of being erased from all of Reality doesn't scare her. Perhaps because being ignored, being treated like a waste of space is her reality. The possibility of being erased is not far from that reality. 

Phoenix takes a glance at Rho. Rho, from the House of Taiscéalaí, adventurer at hearts. He had been one of the first to go and one of the first to come back whole. He looks the same, but something in him has undeniably changed. A spark in his eyes. Thrumming conviction in his stance. Looking into the Anomaly has changed him, has given him more drive. This makes her both proud and saddened by something she is not willing to dwell on. 

"Phoenix, daughter of the Architect," an evaluator calls. Phoenix swallows but sets her shoulders back, face impassive and mental shields strong. "Are you ready, child?"

"Yes," she lies and follows the evaluator into the unknown. 

As they walk, the evaluator repeats some of what the Matron had gone over. Some, she is unable to hear, too focused is she on regulating her internal structures. She thinks, and so she wills. Minute tremors in her limbs diminish. Quiet, stuttered breaths even out. The beat of her hearts steady. A cool, low static washes over her mind, drowning out her emotions. She is not ready, but she allows her body into thinking that she is.

Like heavy mists, eerie green light, much like the one in the lyceum, rolls and pulsates over the trail she and the evaluator tread on, casting dancing shadows on their surroundings. "We are nearing the Anomaly, half-breed," drawls the evaluator. Of course. Away from others' eyes and ears, from the pressure of decorum and weight of names, all pretenses are easily dropped. "Only look into the Anomaly, do not go inside. If it calls you and you choose to listen, do not expect anyone to follow." He waits, allowing his words to sink in, and takes a couple steps back, eyes on her. He says nothing more, but the meaning is clear.

Now begins her test.

Phoenix inhales, allowing the air to fill her lungs and calm her hearts. Her eyes survey the Anomaly, a glowing wall of fluctuating green towering over the trees and distant walls.

This is it.

The Anomaly. 

The one mystery Arkadians can't seem to solve. A discrepancy in the fabric of Time and Space, yet a necessary one. It would do no good to question it, Phoenix decides. No use to apply logic to it. The Anomaly and all the other Anomalies just are, were, could be, and will be. 

They are a fact of the universe.

The Anomaly begins to swirl and twist as she steps closer. Then, just as she'd been instructed, stops right before the wall of eerie green begins. She peers inside, and her surroundings melt away.

She sees eternity, sees infinity, sees all of time and space. It's wondrous, so freeing, and it's like the body that grounds her where she stands is floating, soaking in every wonder of the universe, and she wants nothing more to continue, wants nothing more than to stay here—

— _She wants to stay and fly with the stars_.

She stumbles back several steps, chest heaving, respiratory bypass no longer able to support her lungs. Her eyes flutter to and for, skin slick with perspiration, hearts pumping wildly and erratically. She vies to keep her body in check, but it doesn't listen. And yet, something settles in her mind. A thought, an idea forming, roots spreading across every waking thought.

The Anomaly had shown her the universe, all of Time and Space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was, all that is, all that was, all that ever could be. 

The Anomaly has shown her her heart.

Phoenix's eyes meet the evaluator’s. They're round, filled with shock and budding interest. Suddenly, she feels dirty, like a lab rat or unknown specimen, and her thoughts pull back to what she'd seen in the Anomaly. Her mind angrily pulsates, and she grits her teeth. 

The Anomaly has shown her her heart, only for reality to take it away once more.

_The stars and the universe…_

Without another thought or glance at the inspector, Phoenix runs. She runs and runs and runs. For one brief, breathtaking moment, she allows herself to believe that she's running for the stars.

* * *

The Premier is a stoic man with sharp, severe features and icy blue eyes that could pierce through every mental defense she has up. If his robes did not speak of his high status and power, then it's in the way he holds himself, proud and firm, as if nothing in the universe could touch him. He looms over her easily, piercing cold eyes rooting her to her spot.

She inclines her head. "Premier Lightbourne," she says neutrally, "how may I help you?" She makes no move to allow him into the manor of her father, no indication that he is welcome.

"You truly are your father's daughter," the Premier says, baritone voice carrying an undercurrent she can't quite put her finger on. It almost sounds sarcastic. Odd. She'd never pegged the serious Prime to be anything other than, well, serious. "Walk with me, child of the Architect." With a swish of his robes, he turns and starts walking.

She frowns at his back. Well then. She supposes even the great, stoic Premier could have his vindictive moments.

Phoenix hurries after him, taking note that they're taking a path towards the Forests not many Arkadians and Primes know of. It had been yet another secret her father showed her, a secret earned from his long and illustrious career as the Architect of the new Golden Arkadia and the Great Citadel of Sanctum.

They continue to walk in silence, though it's stifling and uncomfortable and unlike any silence she's ever had with anyone. There's something about the Premier's presence that unnerves her, both physically and mentally. It might be the discordance between his physical and mental signatures, each so unlike the other. Whereas the Premier immediately commands the attention of anyone in any room he walks into, his mental presence is more subtle, barely a delicate wisp of his physical one, yet omniscient all at once. In a crowd of thousands, he becomes the invisible wind; there but unable to be pinpointed, no origin. She has some of the best mental defenses in Arkadia— her father made sure of that— but next to the Premier, she feels powerless.

"I've heard about your stint with the Anomaly," begins Premier Lightbourne. "It seemed to welcome you, wrapped you in its embrace. It was unlike anyone has ever seen, at least, not for a long time." Phoenix opens her mouth, not expecting Premier Lightbourne's words. She knows what she's seen in the Anomaly, yes, but she doesn't know what happened out of it. "What I'm more interested in, however, is what you saw. Now, now, Phoenix, I'm not here to search your memories."

"How would I know you wouldn't?" Phoenix asks, guard high. "You can slip through any shields easily."

"I may dislike you and what you represent"— _Half-breed_ lingers between them in the short expanse between his words— "but I have my morals, little one. Assaulting a child's mind is not something I ever intend to do." His voice carries a heavy note of displeasure and chastisement, making her flinch. "I do not need to slip into your mind to know what you saw, child of the Architect."

"My _name_ is Phoenix." Given to her by her father, her name deserves to be known and said.

Something flashes in the Premier's eyes. Guarded surprise and interest, maybe. "From the ashes, it will rise," he murmurs quietly to himself, lost in another world. Phoenix hears the words nonetheless and mulls over them. An ancient Earth myth, her father had told her. One that he'd admired and thought would fit her well. Her namesake, the Phoenix, the firebird who rises from its own ashes and sings a song so beautiful, it stopped the Sun.

Then, Premier Lightbourne seems to remember that he is not alone, that she is there to see and share his vulnerability, and his face cools into stone so quickly it makes her mind whirl. His eyes narrow, threatening to bore holes into her defenses. "You have no name." The Premier sneers. "But I am not here to discuss propriety with you, child." She's ready to argue with him, but he holds up his hand, and the protest dies on her lips. "I know you do not feel accepted here in Arkadian society—"

She barely holds in her snort, but not her words. "I was never part of Arkadian society, never included—"

He fixes her with a disapproving look. "—indeed. And I know it is because of this that you look to the stars." Phoenix freezes, staring at him. The Premier tilts his head, neutral mask back on. "You are so much like the Architect," he murmurs, flitting over her face. Phoenix wonders if she imagined the brief flash of pain on his face, and something niggles at the back of her mind.

She bites her lips but throws caution to the wind. "Did you— did you love my father?"

The Premier chuckles. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. What is love to a Prime?" He shakes his head. "Regardless, he was a brother to me as I was a brother to him. You do not go through hellish war together without camaraderie as strong as ours." His lips purse in thought. "He was my best man, the only one whom I felt I could trust wholeheartedly. His mind, so brilliant and unlike any other. His hearts, even larger and greater than the universe itself. Perhaps that was the start of our differences, little one. Whereas I poured my hearts into Arkadia, he looked to the worlds outside our own."

"And he fell in love with Earth," Phoenix says. "He fell in love with humans." _He fell in love with my mother, a woman he never bothered to talk about._ As a child, she'd thought it might've pained him to think much less talk about her, the woman he left behind for Arkadia. Now, she's not so sure. 

Premier Lightbourne's face reveals no emotions, mind closed off to any external presence. "I can see he transferred his love of the stars onto you, little one," he says with some difficulty. Briefly, she wonders why.

As she waits for him to continue, they follow the path's twists and turns. Several moments pass, then several more, and she begins to grow impatient. This powerful man unnerves her, but he does not scare her. Or more likely, perhaps he does, but she is too stubborn to admit it. "What is your point, Premier Lightbourne?"

He doesn't respond, and she would've been offended had she not taken note of her surroundings. They'd reached a clearing, and in the distance, she could see the faint outline of her father's manor. "The manor," she says, surprised. She hadn't known that the forests held a trail back to her and her father's estate. Realization and muted horror sets in. She looks to the manor and back to the Premier. "Wait. Hold on—"

He doesn't let her finish. "Your father has not given you all his secrets," he says, and Phoenix purses her lips. "Otherwise, you would've fled Arkadia the moment you fled from the Anomaly."

Her eyes narrow. "What do you mean, Premier?"

He procures a key from his flowing robes and holds it out to her. She stares at it in interest. Sleek, chrome-gold with a tint of green, intricate designs flowing across its shaft. With a jolt, she realizes it's the written language of the Ancient Arkadians, of the Arkadia before the Great and Ravenous War, before their people had become the Guardians of Time. "Use it well, little one. Uncover your father's secrets, piece by piece." He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. His eyes bore into hers, holding painful secrets she can't even begin to fathom. Despite all the years she has under her belt and a maturity she has yet to see amongst her peers, Phoenix realizes that she has yet to understand the magnitude of what the universe has to offer. 

This excites her regardless.

"I am giving you a choice, child of the Architect. Stay here, go through the Naming Ceremony, and become an Official Prime and build upon your father's legacy. Or, take this key, and uncover what your father has left for you instead."

Phoenix stares at the key. It calls to her, and before she's aware of what she's done, her fingers have wrapped around the cool metal. 

"Then go," Premier Lightbourne murmurs. He inclines his head, a measure of respect any Arkadian and Prime not once showed her. "Follow your hearts and fly amongst the stars, little one. May we meet again."

* * *

"Augmented Logistics for Intergalactic and Intra-temporal Exploration. I call her ALIE, my greatest creation. An old relic of an Arkadia long past, an Arkadia I grew up in with my brother Lightbourne, back when travel throughout Time and Space was more prevalent and more dangerous. But I improved her, built upon where previous Arkadians have failed. She is powerful, a creation that harnesses the energies of the very fabric of Time and space itself. Take her, my little Phoenix, and fly amongst the stars. The stars, out there in the universe where you belong."

* * *

Rho is waiting at their secret spot, face upwards to the deep, starry skies. When he sees her, he sits up and gives her a look of relief. "Phoenix! You haven't been here since… well…" He trails off, fidgeting. 

Phoenix looks away. "I'm sorry. I was—" Gentle fingers grip her chin, and her deep blue eyes meet hazel. Hers widen in shock. "Rho—"

He hastily pulls his hand back. "Sorry, I just—" His hand roughly brushes through his dark hair, and she's tempted to replace his hand with her own. His hair just looks so soft, and she wants to know if it really is as soft as it looks. "I missed you." 

Phoenix licks her lips. Oh, this makes it harder. So much harder. "Rho, I—" For once, her great big brain, sharp and witty (usually), is not working, floundering for the right words to say. "A lot of things happened."

A flash of a smile and a teasing poke to her cheek. "You think?"

Phoenix chuckles, indulging in their ease for a brief second before ripping the proverbial Band-aid. "The Premier visited me a few suns-cycles after I fled." Rho's head rears back, eyes wide. The Premier is still alive yes, has been for millennia, but he is practically a legend among Arkadia. He certainly does not do house calls. "He gave me a choice. Stay here and become a Prime, or... or go and fly amongst the stars."

"And you choose to go," says Rho, fingers falling from her face. She can't look at him in the eyes. Somehow, this feels like a betrayal. To him. To _them_. It doesn't feel very good. "This— this is goodbye. You're saying goodbye."

God, Rho... 

"I—"

You're leaving me. You chose the stars over... over me."

Unbidden, tears begin to well up. "Rho, please..."

Rho doesn't respond. Her shoulders shake. She wants to go. To go and see the stars, to taste that freedom she'd felt in the small and few adventures her father had taken her to once upon a dream. But, a small part of her wants to stay. Just for Rho.

Tender lips press against her forehead, and she freezes. "I understand, Phoenix." His cool hands gently maneuver her head so she's looking up at him. "I will miss you."

"And I you."

He closes the distance between them, and she closes her eyes. He tastes like stardust, like kindness, and the suns. She doesn't know how long they stand in the field, with Arkadia's stars, the tall grass, and silvery trees, a testimony to their intimacy, but it feels like eternity and so short all at once. She wishes she can wrap this single beautiful moment in a box and keep it with her to peek into and indulge in during her travels. Instead, it will just be a memory. And memories, like the stars, like human beings, are fleeting.

Rho's forehead meets hers, and she feels his mind wrap around hers in a warm, buzzing embrace. She hugs him back, tightly, and she knows that this must be what love feels like. Like an embrace. Like acceptance.

Like... well, like love.

_"It's a very human thing, love. One day, I hope it'll find you, my little Phoenix."_

_"What if I find it first?"_

_A chuckle. "No. Love will always find you first. Maybe that's why we lose it so quickly. We don't realize it's love until later, when we have it no longer."_

Shaking hands caress her cheeks. "May we meet again," he murmurs in her ear. Like a lover's caress, she feels it in her bones.

"May we meet again."

* * *

Not long after, she takes ALIE to the stars and far, far away from Arkadia. At first, Phoenix visits more isolated places, places where few lived in. Being alone for decades affects her more than she wants to admit, but it doesn't take too long for her to adjust. Not soon after, she dives into throngs of people without a thought, in cultural centers, tourist spots, and hubbubs all across the universe. She stops at places on Earth she vaguely remembers visiting with her father. She meets people of species she's only learned of back in the Academy and species she hasn't known existed. She loves it, to take in the sights, eat the food, and mingle with the locals.

But she never stays too long. She runs and runs, fixing messes that call for her. She does it so often, some people begin to dub her 'the Healer,' the name slowly spreading across galaxies. She rolls along with it (she is even tempted to call herself the Doctor instead, but she chooses not to. Too pretentious, she thinks).

The Healer.

Perhaps a name she can finally make for herself.

It reminds her that she's more than her nature, that she can actually positively touch people's lives. She's doing something, finally, and Phoenix loves it. Lives and revels in the chaos of her life, in helping people who need and want it.

This life, it fits her so well. She'd had an inkling of it back in Arkadia, but once she’d started, Phoenix knew that she'd never stop. This life is made for her, to run across the stars and Time and help as much as she can. To meet people, to see the hidden beauties of the universe, both in its worlds and its occupants.

But, in the calmer hours, in moments where she stops and the thoughts overwhelm, she finds herself missing Arkadia and its natural beauty.

She finds herself missing Rho.

Rho. Oh, Rho, her first love, who reminded her that she is worth more than what her people gave, that she is worth the stars and beyond. 

So, she keeps an ear out. She knows that when she left Arkadia, when she left Rho, that he had yet to coalesce the visions he’d seen in the Anomaly, but had been inspired with what he'd seen. Knowing him, knowing Rho and his burning hopes, he will never give up until he becomes a Prime even if it takes him centuries more, either in the Academy or through the Premier himself. Coupled with the inspiration, she knows that he’ll reach his dreams.

So she waits. Waits to find out when he’ll pass the hurdle the Anomaly presented, waits to hear what name he will choose for his Naming Ceremony, the name that he’ll make his own. 

Then, one day, she hears it, his chosen name, the name he chose for himself. It makes her smile and laugh for hours on end, affection welling in her hearts.

 _Spacewalker_. He calls himself the Spacewalker.

It fits him, Phoenix thinks. It fits him so well. While Rho may not have run for the stars like her, he is still someone who loved and listened to the call of the universe. And so, he walks across space, walks amongst the stars.

Just not with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does my distaste for Finn and Finn/Clarke show? ooh lawd just thinking about it gives me the squiggies, and not the good kind. If you like Finn or the pairing pls don't hate me 
> 
> Also, can you tell which character was which? I know for Clarke in this story she's a little bit OOC, but don't worry, she'll be very in character soon. *wink wink nudge nudge*
> 
> So, finals week is coming up, and I just wanted to publish this so I can focus on studying and writing lovely academic essays. 
> 
> Luckily, after the week is done, I can focus a little more on this story and my other WIPs haha. 
> 
> Anyways, based on my calculations (variables being writing rate, amount of inspiration, motivation, and self-control I have as well as possible interest in this story), I predict that the next chapter will be ready in about...
> 
> 2199 days.
> 
> Huh. Hang on a second, that doesn't sound right—
> 
> (i'm lacking sleep. I'll get back to you in the calculations someday)


	2. The Artist, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Sharknado, if you're reading this right now, this long, weird, nonsensical, mistakes-riddled chapter is for you. Thanks for being awesome, you weirdo

_The first thing Phoenix notices when they step out of her father’s ship is the diverse amount of people and creatures, all from different parts of Sector SM-G9Hx3/#007FFF, also known as the Azure Galaxy for its distinctive color. She’s never seen so many different aliens convened in a single planet, and she quickly grasps her father’s hand as the sights, smells, and sounds bombard her senses._

_He looks down at her, giving her a gentle, encouraging smile. “This is the planet Alessa, my favorite spot to frequent,” he says as they walk through the bustling streets. “A few millennia ago, this planet had no inhabitants, but mountains filled with precious metals and resources made it a target. Many fought for the planet. Many lost. Some won. But everyone took, and they took. Eventually, the wells ran dry, and the planet was deserted once more._

_“Everyone forgot this little planet, this little planet that faced endless wars and bloodshed. Forgotten, that is, until a vessel filled with merchants from different galaxies stopped by. A group of these merchants saw the land, and recognizing the ashes of war, planted the first seed. From that little seed, life grew. This was only a century ago._

_“Now, the planet of Alessa is a beloved trading planet, the sapphire jewel of the Azure galaxy, filled with crops and goods from all over the universe, given by farmers, merchants, and tourists alike.” Glancing down at the child, the Architect’s eyes twinkle, and father and daughter stop at a stall filled to the brim filled with what looked like large, bright yellow raspberries. He speaks to the vendor, who quickly hands him three bags worth of the berries. “This is my favorite,” he says, popping a yellow berry into his mouth before offering her the bag. “Peachberries, originally a genetically-modified fruit from 23rd-century. An absolute treat, undeniably one of the best human inventions ever.” When Phoenix just stares, the Architect chuckles. “Go on, take one,” he urges._

_Phoenix gingerly takes one and carefully inspects it, all the while her father looks on in amusement. She brings it to her nose, sniffing, pleasantly surprised at the subtle, sweet scent, and quickly pops it into her mouth. She rolls it around with her tongue before biting into it. The fruit explodes, coating her mouth with the taste of the sweetest strawberries and peaches, a lingering dash of mango and boysenberry, and then the slightest notes of raspberry and dark chocolate melting together. Her eyes widen at the burst of flavor, and her father the Architect chortles merrily, his shoulders shaking with mirth._

Phoenix, now centuries older, shakes her head of the memory, a small smile lingering on her face.

Ever since leaving Arkadia, her adventures across the stars are what she has left of her father. That, and her memories, memories that would often pop up randomly, leaving her with a sort of emptiness she wants nothing more than to fill. 

And, well, if it means filling that emptiness by gorging herself with peachberries, then so be it. She’s not complaining. 

Briefly, her mind flashes to Alessa. After the wars over the planet ceased and life bloomed, Alessa continued being a beloved trading spot in the Azure Galaxy for six more centuries. She could go there, of course, but not quite ready to face younger incarnations of her father, Phoenix instead chooses the next best choice.

23rd-century Earth, home to the first, original peachberries. 

Setting the parameters and coordinates into her ship, Phoenix kicks back and relaxes on her comfy jumpseat, allowing ALIE to take her to her quick pitstop. Knowing her ship and her troublesome personality, though, ALIE would probably land her right in the middle of an alien invasion.

“I would never,” ALIE’s matter-of-fact voice says behind her. Phoenix whirls the jump seat around to give ALIE a challenging look. “Well,” ALIE amends, “at least, not as much as I have.”

“That’s comforting to hear,” Phoenix grumbles, turning in her seat to glance at the monitor to see exactly where and when her ship took her to. She scowls at the screen. "It's blank," Phoenix says, turning round once again to where ALIE's interface stands. "How am I supposed to know when and where I am?"

ALIE raises an eyebrow. "That's part of the fun, isn't it?"

Touche.

"Right then," Phoenix says, moving for the exit, before freezing in her tracks. She glances down at her outfit, something she'd worn in her last adventure of blend in with the crowd in the party planet of Ydra. The clothes react to specific elements in Ydra's atmosphere, creating controlled but beautiful fire patterns on the dark material, but she shudders to think how it might react in Earth's own atmosphere. While's she's had injuries that nearly took her own life due to her own recklessness and/or stupidity in rarer times, the healing process is quite a bitch and one she'd rather avoid.

"I should change first," she says aloud, and ALIE immediately opens the door to the wardrobe room. Entering, early-to-mid-23rd-century Earth fashion surrounds Phoenix as soon as she steps in. She frowns almost immediately.

"It's so colorful," she mutters, holding up a particularly gaudy piece, complete with curls and bows of a stretchy, silky synthetic fabric that had been all the buzz after its creation and lines upon lines upon circles and other lines. Very geometric, and yet not structured enough, a creative mess of fabric vomit, a sign of the times. "ALIE, are you sure this is actually the temporally-correct style of clothes worn whenever you took me to?"

ALIE appears next to her, giving her a challenging look. "Are you doubting my intelligence, little Phoenix?"

Phoenix scratches her head. "No not at all. It's just, this doesn't... it isn't my style. Think it might be weird if I just go out in my shirt and jeans?" Oh please, please, please let it be no. She loves her shirt and jeans combo— very comfortable, easy to run in. That _monstrosity_ is not fit for wearing, much less running in.

"If you'd like," ALIE replies silkily. "But I believe you might be pulled over by the fashion police if you do. 23rd-century Earthlings are very particular about what they wear." Eyebrows furrowing, Phoenix opens her mouth to say something but ALIE continues without missing a beat, "Perhaps try the classic, grunge-apocalypse-chic instead?" A dirty, worn, dark navy-blue jacket over a dirty, worn, light acid-grey shirt and ripped black pants and boots appear before her. "It's quite vogue at this time. All the rage to the rebellious crowd, a counter-culture to the gaudiness of normal, popular fashion and a callback to the hardships of the century past."

Phoenix stares at the apocalyptic clothes, then at the gaudy monstrosity of fabric vomit, then back at ALIE, whose blank face reveals nothing. "You're fucking with me."

"What gave it away?"

Phoenix huffs. "Right then, just my shirt and jeans." She moves to a rack at a corner of the wardrobe room, but pauses, then takes in the apocalyptic clothes ALIE presented to her. 

"Actually, ALIE, just clean up the dirt a bit, and I'll wear that instead. It's not bad. I'll be able to run in it, at least." 

Her ship complies, and the outfit disappears. "So," ALIE says not even a second afterwards, "you admit my fashion taste is far superior to yours."

Phoenix frowns at her ship's interface. "Now, I never once said that—" The clothes, much cleaner and presentable this time, but not losing its edgy touch, reappear before she can get another word in, and Phoenix sighs in defeat. Sometimes, there's no winning against ALIE, and her ship knows it. "Thanks," she says grudgingly and hurries off to change without another word to her smug ship.

Afterwards, Phoenix wanders around polished, compact streets, eyes peeled for supermarkets. Luckily, she doesn’t have to look too far, quickly catching sight of a colorful hologram bearing the words, ‘ _Best peachberries in the world_ ’ in front of a huge, wide building. 

Less than an hour of shopping, waiting in line, and near-temporal paradox later— really, the currency of the 23rd and late 29th-centuries are frighteningly similar— Phoenix happily munches on the peachberries on her way back to her well-hidden ship. She sighs, contented. With the mouthwatering flavors of the sweetest strawberries and peaches, a dash of mango and boysenberry, and the slightest notes of raspberry melting together into one vitamin-antioxidant-packed fruit, Phoenix is instantly transported back to the marketplace in Alesa, amidst a friendly crowd of alien races and human beings, with her father a comforting presence by her side. The original peachberries have a much more robust flavor and don't quite meld as well as the ones she'd eaten in her childhood, though she still thoroughly enjoys them now regardless.

Popping one last peachberry into her mouth and placing the empty carton into a green bin, Phoenix refrains from demolishing the rest, intending to save some for her garden and for later consumption. Although she can visit the 23rd-century every now and then, there's only a limited margin of time she can visit, so might as well start preparing now while she can. 

Turning a corner into a dark alleyway, Phoenix glances around her to make sure no one was around. _Not that it matters_ , Phoenix thinks. Even if anyone were to see her reveal ALIE from the cloaking device, what would they do? Tell other people and risk being sectioned? Though, last she heard, mental health facilities in the 23rd-century had much less of a stigma then centuries prior and were built like resorts.

Shaking herself from her diverging thoughts, Phoenix faces the wall and taps the screen of her watch. Within seconds, a mix of gold and green strings fluctuate in front of her, slowly revealing her ship. Throwing ALIE's doors open, Phoenix enters, making her way to the kitchen door to deposit her peachberries. She supposes she could take some time to plant some in the garden room, but Phoenix is already itching for her next adventure, her hunger for peachberries now quenched. 

However, when she randomly selects spatial and temporal coordinates into the monitor, nothing happens. Phoenix frowns, re-entering the coordinates to no avail. "ALIE," she growls after re-entering the coordinates for the fifth time, "why aren't you moving?"

She can feel ALIE's interface pop into existence next to her, so Phoenix whirls around, hands on hips. "Well?" Phoenix asks, foot tapping against the grating. "Don't tell me you're planning on stranding me here."

ALIE's face is annoyingly neutral, betraying nothing in the face of Phoenix's irritation. "Isn't it obvious, little Phoenix?" ALIE snarks. "You are needed here. I can't go without you finding it."

"Find _what?_ I don't even know where I am because you didn't tell me."

"Why don't you find out?" ALIE's interface says coolly, meeting Phoenix's glare with a blank look.

"There was nothing weird that stood out," argues Phoenix, but she still makes her way to the exit. Before she steps out though, she asks over her shoulder, "Can you at least tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for?"

A small smirk appears on ALIE's face. "Now where's the fun in that?" ALIE asks, and in a flash, Phoenix finds herself outside, back in the dark alleyway.

"Wonderful," Phoenix grumbles under her breath as strings of green and gold swoop into the watch on her wrist. That lousy ship of hers had just forced her out and stranded her on 23rd-century Earth. Times like this has Phoenix wondering if she truly is the owner of her ship or if her ship owns her.

A smug little hum vibrates from ALIE's end of the connection between ship and owner. Sending ALIE the Arkadian mental equivalent of the middle finger, Phoenix once again finds herself in the streets of wherever she is. 

Scratching her head, Phoenix sighs. Her Time Sense had already identified her chrono-location as March 17, 2231 the moment she stepped out from ALIE, but finding out where she is geographically is a different story. Although she can’t pinpoint an exact physical location like she could on years with her Time Sense, she knows more than enough about the universe to know where she is. Having much more heightened senses compared to humans certainly help.

First, she takes a look around her. Polished skyscrapers, hover cars zipping in and around buildings in straight, orderly lines, humans and androids alike interacting with each other, green and other varied blooms of color twisting around skyscrapers, buildings, and streets. Flashy projections on large, smooth panels; colorful, interactive holograms near posts and corners. All verify what she already knows, that she’s in 2231.

Next, she pokes out her tongue, tasting the air enveloping it. Definitely some carbon and other bitter chemicals, as expected from an urban environment, but markedly better and cleaner than the atmosphere in the 20th and 21st centuries. Actually, now that she thinks about it, the atmosphere here seems much better than other typical supercities of this time period— a factor Phoenix files away for consideration.

Beneath the taste of a bustling metropolis, even one cleaner than normal, lies the crisp salt of an ocean breeze. Phoenix smirks before taking in a deep breath. Sniffing past the strong fumes coming from the city and city production, Phoenix catches the scent of earth.

“No, not earth,” she says, a full-blown grin on her face. “A nutrient solution that resembles soil, and it’s coming from _everywhere_.” Sauntering over to a flowery bush, she bends down until her nose practically buries into the substitute soil. To a human’s senses, the solution smelled, looked, and felt exactly like fresh earth. Being an Arkadian, Phoenix could easily discern its chemical composition with just a simple sniff and taste. 

“All right,” Phoenix mutters, quickly wiping away the substitute dirt from her jeans as she jumps to her feet. "So, urban supercity next to an ocean. Actually"— Phoenix takes another deep sniff, twirling on the spot— "ocean’s all around us… an island, huh?" Glancing at the remnants of faux soil on her fingers and jeans, another wide smile appears on her face. 

“No natural soil anywhere, best peachberries in the world— best, because of advancements in hydroponic technology, technology necessary for livelihood and sustenance.” With an excited whoop, Phoenix declares,

"I’m in the Colony of Eden, Eden Isles! First manmade island-nation and hot tourist destination for 23rd-century humans, well-known for its delicious organic foods and vibrant art scene!" She dances a little victory jig on the spot, earning several weirded-out and amused looks from passersby. She pauses, practically vibrating with excitement. "

"The art scene!" she gasps, hands flying over her mouth.

Several trips ago, ALIE, annoyed by the various art supplies and art pieces littered across the ship, landed on 22nd-century Earth, circa 2163. Refusing to leave until her demands were followed through, ALIE forced Phoenix to donate most of her artworks on the spot. However, not wanting them to hang in a private gallery for one individual, Phoenix added a caveat that her art would never be sold to private individuals.

Maybe, just maybe, some of her art could be hanging in a museum right now. It wouldn’t surprise her if so. Most of the paintings she’d deposited were made from 39th-century pigment paint, an incredibly hard medium to come by in this period. Though, anyone who would test the paint she used would believe it was traditional pigment paint until the 33rd-century, when the materials used for the 39th-century paint were found in a different galaxy and technology was more refined. 

With vigor and excitement, Phoenix scans the buildings and quickly notices a small art gallery a few meters from where she’s standing. Grinning, Phoenix quickly rushes to the art gallery, excitement welling up so much, her hearts practically exploding. 

An annoyed huff from ALIE reminds Phoenix about the mission in hand, but right now, she’s not getting anything worrisome from her Time Sense. No sickening push from fixed points, no dizzying whirls from potential paradoxes and twisted timelines. Any reason waiting for her to find can wait a couple more hours. 

Entering the quaint building, Phoenix spots a female with smooth brown hair tied back into a complex ponytail-braid combo that fits her small, structured face. They’re wearing a smooth, slate-grey uniform made from the same material as the gaudy cloth vomit ALIE had shown her earlier, and her tied hair reveals a blue circle on her right temple. An android. Phoenix smiles at them, and the android smiles politely back.

“Welcome,” they say, tones low and dulcet and soothing. Definitely a Retail/Hospitality Android. “How may I help you today?”

“I love art, and I couldn’t help but notice this place,” Phoenix says with as much charm as she can muster. It kind of works, but androids have different interests and tastes than humans. “How much should I pay?”

“First hour is free.”

“Really?” Phoenix glances at the other room, which is, though filled with artworks of different mediums, empty of customers. With a free first hour and varied art selection, plus with a large art community on Eden Isles, she thinks it odd that no one is taking advantage of this. “I thought mixed media is enough reason to charge at least a small fee,” she says lightly.

“The original owner of this gallery heavily endorsed the arts and welcomed anyone interested in it. Because of this, it’s a popular attraction to both locals and tourists.”

Popular attraction. Right. 

Shaking away her doubts, Phoenix latches onto what the android said and asks, “Is it possible if I could meet with the owner?” Maybe whoever the owner is is the reason why she is needed in 2231, Eden Isles. 

The android hesitates before answering, “I am the owner. But, the original owner originally started this gallery for his wife, who loved and fully endorsed art. When she passed, he opened up to the public and eventually gave ownership to me.”

Phoenix tilts her head. Ever since the passing of the Synths/Android Rights Act following the Android Rebellion, androids had less restraining programming, giving them more freedom and thus making it much easier for them to lie. Still, Phoenix is nothing but observant. The hesitant pause and blinking from the android processor before replying told her that the android is operating under a set of specific instructions. Even if they truly are the owner of the gallery, someone had to have programmed the instructions into them, which meant that technically, they’re working under someone else. Unless, of course, the android is illegally employed, but Phoenix can’t sense any signs of foul play.

But, then, who is the one the android answers to? Phoenix suspects it to be the previous owner, but she also knows that she’ll go nowhere with the android, not with the programmed instructions. Deciding it best to just look around instead of asking questions, Phoenix takes out two 500-notes and hands it to the android. “This should be enough,” she says before placing two other 500-notes bills into the tip jar. 

Surprise flickers over the android’s face before they send her a thankful smile. Not quite comfortable with the gratitude, Phoenix flippantly waves her hand, clearly interrupting what the android was about to say, and basically runs into the adjacent room. 

Inside, she’s almost disappointed by the lacking numbers of art occupying the space. The way the android talked, they made it seem like the gallery was filled to the brim with pieces. Still, the gallery has a nice mixture of traditional mediums and more modern art. Works of more traditional mediums line the walls, while more modern mediums, like 4D-lights, interactive holograms, and solid music visuals occupy the center floor. The pieces and layout please the eyes, and despite the disappointingly small number of art, Phoenix appreciates the natural and organic atmosphere the art and their arrangement encourages. Taking in each masterpiece with a smile and careful attention to detail, Phoenix pauses at a particular painting on the wall, then the others near it.

There they are, the paintings she’d given away.

A couple decades later, and they’re still being appreciated and circulated around the globe. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice asks from behind her. “The original artist donated it anonymously to an art gallery with a strange note, asking their works to be circulated around the globe. The mystery surrounding the note and the original artist launched a manhunt within the art community. Several stepped forward, but were immediately debunked. Sure enough, as more and more people became intrigued by the mysterious artist and the beautiful, emotional paintings, many wanted to have it hanging in their personal galleries.

"How the original owner of this gallery came to posses it, I don't know, but personally? I'm glad they were kind enough to show it off for the public, for anyone willing to see." 

Turning around, Phoenix sees a dark-skinned human around their early-to-mid-20s, dark, cropped hair, kind, expressive dark eyes. They’re wearing a white collared shirt under a crisp, neat, dusky blazer that shimmered and shifted under the lights. A circular logo sits on the left pectoral, and in the center of the circle are bright indigo, intertwining script. These ideograms had been developed in the past century as an early prototype of encrypted communication between many military intelligence communities and tech they used. It reads, ‘Trillion Galactic.’ Odd choice for the logo, especially for a company whose main focus was in developing space exploration technology.

On their right, a small, brass name tag is pinned to the blazer’s lapels. _'Clerk'_ is written in a much larger, curlier font above blockier letters spelling out, _‘T. Griffin.’_

“I’m on my lunch break,” the human explains in response to her critical eye. “My name’s Griffin,” they say, holding their hand out, an honest smile on their face. “Theo Griffin, he/him/his. Yours?” 

Phoenix grins like a madwoman. “Brilliant name,” she tells him. “I was named after a mythological creature myself. Phoenix, like this zone,” she adds. “And uh, pronouns don’t really matter to me— never really thought about them, since our— that is, _my_ language never really had them, at least when describing ourselves. Prefer to use she/her/hers, though, seems to fit me more than the rest.” After she’s done rambling, she stuffs her hands in her pockets as if she can stuff her mouth. She can feel ALIE snickering in the back of her mind, and it takes everything in Phoenix not to physically scowl.

Cheeky bitch.

“What,” Theo says, a touch of a suppressed laugh in his tone, “no last name?” 

“Is that required?” she asks innocently, and he throws his head back in a laugh. She watches him in interest before suddenly asking him out of the blue, “You work at Trillion Galactic? Mind if I drop by with you, see what’s it like being a clerk?” It feels right, this moment. Like she’s meant to be here, to meet this young human. Trillion Galactic tugs something in her, and she knows that she’s on the right track, that the mystery waiting for her has something to do with this human and Trillion Galactic.

 _'G_ _uess you’re right, ALIE,'_ she tells her ship and inwardly rolls her eyes at the gloating hum she receives in response. 

Her question obviously surprises Griffin, the laughter quickly fading and walls drawing up in his eyes. But she knows people through her travels across the universe, and this young, 20-something human boy is easier to read than a picture book. He’s not happy with Trillion Galactic, and yet, he works there. Either he’s forced to work for them— but why would a major corporation of this time, one with a defining role in humankind’s intergalactic colonization and eventual expansion outside their galaxy, force someone to be a lowly clerk, a position easily filled— or he’s there for a specific purpose. 

A specific purpose… like finding information. 

Information that could easily be accessed as a _clerk._

She files this away for later. Right now, she needs to check out Trillion Galactic, and Theo Griffin is the only way she can do this as sneakily as possible. To do that, she has to gain his trust and not scare him and send him running for the hills.

 _‘Shut up, ALIE,’_ Phoenix says when her ship snorts in derision and obvious disbelief.

“Right,” Griffin says awkwardly before clearing his throat. Goodness, he really is not fit for espionage. He sucks at lying, emotions open wider than a book, thoughts clearly written across his face. Judging by this and his genuinely kind and expressive eyes and soft smile he’d shown just a few minutes ago, Theo Griffin is probably someone who possesses strong morals and a strong sense of justice, and most of all, optimistic, if not a little naive and sheltered.

That’s not to say he didn’t know pain. There’s something in his eyes that clues Phoenix in that he’s suffering, but uses that pain as motivation. She thinks that this pain might blind him to the point of foolish bravado and wonders if this is part of why he works in Trillion Galactic.

“Er, I’m not allowed to bring you in. See, I work with, um, classified documents, and my superiors will not appreciate bringing a… a _stranger_ to my work.”

A spark lights Phoenix’s eyes. Leaning in with a smirk too similar to a certain Time Mercenary’s, she whispers, “Oh, _Theo Griffin_ _”—_ She can’t help but add a little extra emphasis on his name like she _knows_ and notes that his Adam’s apple bounces subtly in response— “something tells me that you could care less about what your superiors think.”

A ghost of a smile plays with his lips before he nods with a similar smirk of his own. Ooh, she likes him already. “Alright, fine, I’ll bring you in as my guest. But I’m warning you— Glass, the security guard in the lobby, is pretty strict. If they won’t let you in, then my hands are tied.”

Phoenix flashes him a smirk. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got that part handled.”

* * *

“How did you do that?” Theo Griffin hisses to her once they arrive at the elevator. Scanning his clear ID and pressing a sublevel button, he repeats his demand and gives her a stern look. “You’re not an employee in this company, even I know this— my god, you’re not even wearing the mandatory uniform, how the hell did you manage to convince Glass?”

Phoenix grins and flashes him the card she’d shown Glass the security guard, making sure the cameras wouldn’t be able to see it. “Psychic paper,” she says. _“And,_ my natural charisma, naturally. Oh, by the way, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra spare uniform lying around, would you?” she adds flippantly after a second of stupefied silence on Griffin’s part.

Griffin makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. “Psychic paper. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” He altogether ignores her question about the uniform, and Phoenix inwardly huffs. _Humans._ So rude sometimes. How could she be _half_ _?_ She’s got to be a tenth, at the most.

The elevator doors silently swish open, revealing a large, spacious room. Along the right wall are tall shelves filled with paper files, and between these shelves is a huge, late-1900s style mainframe computer. The rest of the room contains more modern tech, like the several encrypted vitreous files several corporations use for record-keeping in lieu of paper ones. In the center is a lone desk, with a swivel chair, phone and flat computer, facing towards the elevator. 

“Your office is the basement?” asks Phoenix with a smirk. 

Griffin’s cheeks flush, and he looks away. “I like the solitude,” he mumbles. _Lie._ He does not. He’s very much a people person; she could feel it. She wonders why he chooses to stay at a job he doesn’t like, at a job he doesn’t _need._

Phoenix wanders around the room, inspecting every inch of it, her hand flitting to her watch every now and then. _‘Interesting,'_ she thinks, passing through the room. The tech is much more advanced than what she’d encountered in the 20th and 21st centuries, but still primitive compared to what she’s seen and used herself. 

Even _more_ so when compared to Arkadia. Then again, Arkadia is a standard no race in this universe will be able to reach.

“So what do you do as a clerk?” she asks casually, hand brushing over a vitreous file. It looks thin and fragile with its glasslike appearance, but she knows not even a jackhammer would be able to break it. Only a special kind of shredder could rip through the file’s materials and render it useless if it hadn’t already been backed up.

“Oh, you know,” Griffin says noncommittally from his desk, surveying a vitreous file and tapping away on his computer. “Upload documents to the company’s cloud, archive files there, convert the older ones from previous centuries. Answer phone calls, record ‘em, send _those_ to the cloud records. Delete anything my superiors tell me to. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.” 

Phoenix fiddles with her watch. “You like working here?” she asks because it sure doesn’t sound like he does.

“Sure, pays pretty well for an easy job.”

She moves to the center, towards the desk Griffin sits at. “How long have you been working for Trillion Galactic?”

“Hm…” He pauses from his tapping, eyebrows creased in thought. “Maybe about six months now? Yeah, that’s it. About six months now. Huh. That’s really…” He shakes his head. “Yeah, six months.”

Her head cocks to the side. “I see. Must be hard,” she comments casually, eyes meeting his, “pretending to be someone you’re not for six months, isn’t it?”

Theo Griffin freezes. “Pardon? Can you repeat that? I- I didn’t really hear you.”

She steps closer to him, a cautious step, observing his skittish movements carefully. “I believe you heard me, Theo Griffin,” she says softly. “Though that’s not your real name, is it?”

His eyes wander around the room in jerky movements. “No. Yes. I _mean,_ my name is Theo Griffin. It’s always been Theo Griffin. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lets out a disbelieving scoff as if to prove a point, but it only sounds nervous to her ears.

“I think you do.” Noticing his furtive glances, Phoenix gestures around the room. “Don’t worry about the surveillance cams,” she says. “I took care of them.”

He frowns at her, arms crossing his chest. “Yeah? How’d you manage that? With your psychic paper?”

“No.” She taps her watch proudly. “With this.”

“Ooh, wow. A watch. You can tell me the time!”

“It’s also an electrosonic damper, among other things. Interferes with the cameras in this room, scrambles them up a bit without raising suspicions. No one would be able to monitor us or be able to hear what we say.”

“Right, sure, but they can run the video through lip-reading software.”

“Oh don’t worry about that. It _also_ emits a low-level psychic field to induce any watchers into seeing an illusion I put in place of the actual recording. Right now, they’re seeing you going about your normal day. Convenient, right? Now, mind answering my question?” 

He gives her an incredulous look. 

Phoenix sighs. Why does he have to be so difficult? She’s on his side, for now. “Oh, alright, I suppose I should start before we share each other’s secrets. Seems like the fair thing to do.” Giving him a conspiratorial wink, she says with a large, madwoman grin, “I’m not from here, you see. Not from good ole planet Earth. Nah, I’m from out there, far out in the stars.”

Splaying her hands wide open, she playfully wiggles them. “Boo! My name is Phoenix, an alien sent from outer space! Take me to your leader.”

“Yeah, I figured you’re an alien,” Griffin snaps, crossing his arms. “The psychic paper gave it away. That, and those clothes. So two decades ago. No one in their right mind would wear it voluntarily.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, bypassing his insult. “Oh yeah? Color me impressed.”

“I can be smart. No, I _am_ smart,” Griffin grouses and tiredly rubs his head, plopping down onto the chair behind his desk like a sack of boneless flesh. “How’d you even find out? We’ve only met today, and you figured me out quicker than my own coworkers and bosses.”

Phoenix shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.” 

“Dare I ask what _kind_ of people you’re talking about? Aliens, I’m guessing?” 

“To you, Earthling— maybe. People from all over the universe, to infinity and beyond. But you haven’t answered my question. I’d like to know who you are and why you’re willing to pretend you’re someone you’re not.” 

“I don’t think I’m entitled to share my personal story to someone I’d barely met today,” he says in a surprisingly diplomatic tone for words that otherwise would have been scathing.

“Fair. Give me your name then, at least. Your real one. I gave you mine.”

Theo Griffin hesitates. He looks up at Phoenix, conflicted, and she can practically see the gears in his mind grinding. Finally, after a few moments of deliberation, he tells her. “Wells. My name is Wells Jaha.” Something wiggles in the back of her mind. That name… then it clicks.

Jaha. Former Chancellor of the Eden Isles. This boy is Thelonius Jaha’s son.

Ah. Well, that answers a couple things.

The sole android working at the art gallery. The art gallery with the mixed media and free hour, with no one inside, not a single soul. The art gallery itself, previously owned by the late Chancellor Thelonius Jaha. Why Wells was at the art gallery during his lunch hour, probably to check up on business.

As she mulls over this, Wells is busy observing her. “I’m guessing you’re familiar with the name?” He scoffs. “Damn. Even my father’s infamy reaches the vastness of outer space.”

“Nah,” Phoenix replies. “I’m just _really_ good at history. The smallest bits are often the funnest and interesting-est.” She sits down on the table, facing him. “So you’re here for your father?”

Wells nods resolutely. “I’m here to avenge him. To clear up his name.” He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “My father is many things, but he is— was not a killer. He wasn’t behind the Toxic Terrors. He’s _not_ _—_ wasn't. He wasn’t. He wouldn’t have done that, he loved his people too much to take part in it, much less be behind all of the attacks.”

The Toxic Terrors had been a series of coordinated terrorist acts around the globe. Biological and chemical agents released into the air caused the nanobots circulating within many of the world’s population to backfire and start attacking the host’s body. It resulted in billions of deaths, wiping nearly a third of the world’s population. Eden Isles was the first nation-state to get hit, yet one of the last to recover; out of its six-million-plus human residents, roughly only a million survived. Speculations pointed to terrorist organizations behind the attacks, but neither motives nor the actual people responsible for instigating the Terrors were disclosed. Other wilder conspiracy theories popped up, like the government did it to cull the rapidly-growing population or bacteria were evolving quickly to the point that their own toxins would be able to corrupt the nanobots found in several people’s bodies.

Then, a year ago from this moment, Thelonius Jaha was found dead in his mansion, hanging from the ceiling fan of his living room. A note was found, confessing to his guilt as the mastermind behind the Toxic Terrors. Media frenzy subsequently soared, and the public and professionals alike tore into Thelonius Jaha’s life, family, personality, and possible motivations to his actions, sullying the Jaha family name and uncovering a hidden, well-protected son in its wake. 

The boy’s name and his face, though, remained unknown.

Now, here in this moment and place, Phoenix knows both, while the rest of the world seethes in uncertainty.

“So,” Phoenix says lightly, “you chose to go undercover as a clerk to one of the most evil corporations in this century Earth just to get information on clearing your father’s name.” She shakes her head, both in awe of his mettle and incredulous over his recklessness. “…That has got to be one of the stupidest and boldest ideas I’ve ever heard.” 

Wells winces, the tips of his ears burning. “I was desperate.” _‘Obviously_ ,’ Phoenix comments to herself, making sure it shows on her face. Wells, despite his burning face and ears, looks defiantly back at her. Oh, he’s starting to grow on her. He’s definitely brazen, if not a little misguided.

“So why Trillion Galactic?” Phoenix asks him. “What did you find, Wells Jaha?”

“A lot of things,” Wells says gravely. “But not here.” The way he glances furtively around him tells her how potent his paranoia is and that he still might not _quite_ trust her. 

“You can trust me, you know. The cams are out of service, like I said.” She holds up her wrist, smirking. “This may _look_ like a watch, but it’s not. It’s a tool, with all kinds of settings your puny human mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Like a swiss army knife, but better, and not as tacky looking.”

Graciously ignoring her insult against his kind, Wells lets out a small chuckle, and it’s enough for her. “No, it’s not that. I do trust you,” he confesses, ears burning. At her grin, he ducks his head, obviously hiding a smile. “For some odd reason, I feel like I could. But I’d be more comfortable at my apartment, where there’s no— well, where there’s privacy.” Fair. “Plus, I’ve got all my evidence back at home. We can consolidate all the data I collected from my six months here and look over everything. Might do me some good to get a fresh perspective on things.”

He pauses then casts her a wary look. “That is, if you’re helping me. _Willing_ to help me. If you want to. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t, I just—”

She interrupts him, “Of course I’d help!” She rolls her eyes. Idealistic, bold, bit of an idiot. The tragic trio of traits. “But I just want to know.”

He eyes her warily. “What?”

“What do I call you from now on? My name is Phoenix, but I’m also known as the Artist, the Healer, the Crazy One, and my personal favorite, Cockroach.” At his blank look, she continues, “What should I call _you?_ Clerk Jaha? _Cleeeerk Jaaaahaaaaaaaa._ Clerk Jaha! It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“You’d blow my cover then!” Wells says, laughing.

“Fine, then how does Clerk Griffin sound? Hello, Clerk Griffin. Clerk Griffin. Oh, but it doesn’t have the same ring as Clerk Jaha.” She pouts and tries again, “Clerk Wells? Clerk Theo— ooh, that one’s not too bad. What about Clerk Theo Wells Griffin? Clerk Wells Theo Griffin? … Clerk Wells Griffin?” With each suggestion that passes her mouth, Phoenix’s face puckers. “Can’t I just call you Clerk Jaha?” 

Somehow, this sets Wells off. 

“Just Griffin is fine,” Wells says, wiping the tears that leaked from his eyes. “That’s my middle name.”

“Ah, got it,” Phoenix says, nodding sagely. “Wells Just Griffin Jaha.” 

Wells groans, shaking his head. “No, no, _just_ Grif— it’s Wells _Griffin_ Jaha,” he corrects. She can’t tell if he’s being serious, or if he’s just teasing her right back. 

She tests it anyway, “Wells Griffin Jaha.” She repeats his name again, letting the sounds and syllables roll over her tongue. “Hm, not bad.” She nods decisively. It’s definitely got a decent ring to it.

“Not _bad_?” Wells laughs, shaking his head. “My mother literally fought with my father for that name instead of what he wanted!”

“Why? What did he want?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Phoenix gives him a look. ‘Try me,’ it says. Wells hesitates, biting his lips, but still tells her,

“He, uh… he wanted Clark Theodore Jaha.”

Phoenix’s eyes bulge. “... oh my God! You could’ve— Clerk Clerk Theodore Jaha!” Phoenix falls over, landing on her ass, shaking with laughter. “That’s brilliant!”

“It’s _Clark._ Like Superman,” says Wells, frowning down at her. “But my mom thought Superman was overrated, so she wanted Wells.” As her giggles rise in pitch, he shoots her a dirty look. “Oh shut up,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to his work. If he hears her stifled giggles, he does a good job ignoring them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably come back and edit this. We'll see ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> This originally was supposed to be a really long oneshot with 4-5 parts lmao, and now it has 6 planned chapters + maybe 1 epilogue. What have i done, I have other WIPs to focus on. i'm sorry.


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